


Another Little Christmas Coffee Shop AU

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bakery AU, Brief Alcohol Use, Christmas, Comped Hotel Rooms, Damsel in distress trope, Emma's White Dress is See-Through When It Gets Rained On, Except with Women, F/F, Femslash, Oh whatever shall Emma do?, Oral, Ororo Wants to Keep Emma Warm, Stranded for the Holidays AU, very warm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 22:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Emma misses her flight and ends up stranded, and the coffee shop she takes refuge in is only open for another twenty minutes.The barista at the counter tells her she will take it up with the owner, and she offers her something to warm up.





	Another Little Christmas Coffee Shop AU

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Apodyopsis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063361) by [OriginalCeenote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote). 



> You will have to pry this pairing out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
>  
> 
> For the record, though. this is also a loose spinoff from another short story I wrote called "Apodyopsis," a RoLo ficlet that I always talked about expanding. Consider the Ororo and the bakery in this story to be the same from that story, even if it is a different 'ship.

Sleet. Of course. Because nothing could make this night _worse_.

Emma rang off the phone, scowling at the Lyft app screen that told her that her driver wouldn’t make it to the airport for at least another forty-five minutes. She gripped the now useless boarding passes in her cool fingers and growled under her breath. Her lightweight, cream trench coat mocked her, offering too-little protection from the weather she’d planned to escape. The grounded 747 jet outside mocked her, too, gleaming silvery white as the freezing rain slanted over it and sluiced down the floor-to-ceiling windows in the gate.

“This is a fine how-do-you-do,” Emma muttered. “Blast it all.”

Emma clicked down the hallway of the concourse, determined at this point to salvage the rest of the night and to cash in the hotel voucher that the customer service desk comped her for her troubles. She dragged the wheeled suitcase behind her toward the escalators, ignoring the curious smiles from the security guards who watched her hurry past from the check-in kiosks only an hour ago.

Emma thanked any deity listening that she lived in century that included smartphones and the Yelp app. The hotel boasted a location within walking distance of three different restaurants and a tiny coffee shop with a four-and-a-half star rating. The perfect score was marred by only one review from a disgruntled man who’d tried to flirt with the owner and had been spectacularly shut down. Emma made up her mind that she might have to try the scones.

Her toes complained about the pinch of her Christian Loboutin boots that weren’t made for more than a five hundred-yard stroll down a flat street on a clear day. Emma waited by the baggage carousels and far enough inside from the sliding doors, where it was marginally warmer, until the incoming flight’s passengers arrived in a barrage, buffeting past her to grab luggage from the belt. Emma moved aside and found one of the cold, tacky vinyl chairs in the waiting area. She plugged her charger cable in at one of the tiny ports while she waited, and she texted Jean the changes in her itinerary.

_So. I had a slight change of plans, duckie._

Jean wasn’t a night owl, but Emma smiled when she realized that her best friend had been worried enough to wait up to hear from her.

She watched Jean’s return message bubble for almost a minute. _What, you’re not on your plane? What happened, Em?_

Emma tightened the sash of her coat futilely, attempting to preserve some iota of warmth. _Grounded. Too much ice on the plane, and they cancelled the connecting flight. I’m stranded here until tomorrow. They gave me a voucher for a hotel and rebooked my flight._

Emma’s phone only had a twenty percent charge. She failed to resist the urge to beat her last Candy Crush score while she’d waited in the terminal, and now, she was paying for it. The novel she picked up at the newsstand was bookmarked with the receipt on the third chapter, and the prose was drier than a saltine. Emma had a long night ahead of her.

 _Is it a nice hotel? Do they had continental breakfast?_ Jean always asked the important questions.

_We’ll see when we get there, won’t we?_

_Keep me posted, sweetie. Miss you. Call me when you get in tomorrow._

_You know I will._

Jean texted her back some fluffy red hearts, just before her Lyft app dinged at her that her ride arrived. Emma hurried for the doors, suitcase in tow, catching her purse by its strap just as it went sliding down her arm. She shrank back from the freezing gusts and rain that pelted her horizontally, instantly wrecking her hair. “Ugh…!”

“Emma Frost? I’m taking you to the Radisson on Ninth?”

“Please.”

“Let me help you with that.” Her driver was young and dark-complected and spoke with a faint Brazilian accent. His name plate hanging over his window visor named his as Roberto DaCosta. “Where did you get in from, miss?”

“Nowhere, yet. My flight was cancelled.”

“That sucks,” he offered as he took her bags and loaded them into the trunk. Emma scrambled into the back of the tiny sedan and was thankful that the upholstery was plush instead of leather. At Emma’s request, Roberto turned the heat up a notch. They made halting progress through the holiday traffic and edged onto the freeway.

“Where are you headed?”

“The Radisson. It’s there on my pickup request.”

“I mean, where were you flying?”

“Er. Right. Sorry. I’m exhausted.” He smiled and nodded at her in the mirror. “Cancun. I was going to meet my friend there. I don’t really do ‘family’ holidays anymore.” Emma made finger quotes around the word. 

“That sounds nice.”

“Well, it will be, if I manage to catch my flight tomorrow morning.”

The tail lights ahead of them transformed the raindrops on the windshield into a garish rainbow of tiny shards. Emma listened to the lazy warp of the wiper blades and Roberto’s Top 40 through the slight static as she continued to check her emails and texts. Traffic remained bumper to bumper for the next twenty minutes. Emma’s stomach growled just to remind her that she’d neglected it. 

“How is this little cafe? On Ninth Street?”

“Oh, you mean Crumb Snatchers? It more of a bakery, but they do coffee, too. They’re pretty good. It’s late, so they might be closing soon.”

“God, I hope not.”

“Hope I can get you there on time,” Roberto offered, even though Emma knew the chances of that were appallingly slim. They crept along the road, while Emma slowly thawed out, appreciating the heat piping through the musty vents. She might have dozed for a while. Roberto’s cheerful tone roused her, making her jerk her head up from the window.

“Here we are, Miss Frost.”

“This is it?” Emma glanced up at the awning and carpeted runner leading into a tiled lobby. “Oh. It’s not too shabby, is it?”

“Not bad for around here,” Roberto confirmed.

Emma paid her fare with a generous tip, and he helped her out of the back of the car, hurrying to retrieve her bags. Emma envied him his heavy, quilted fleece, woolen beanie and thick gloves. 

“Drive safely,” she told him.

“Have a nice trip,” he offered politely. The night concierge helped Emma inside with her bags, and she showed her voucher at the front desk. 

“You’re in luck,” the clerk told her. “We have one single room with a king-sized bed left. Continental breakfast is served until ten-thirty.”

“Is there a gym?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do you need any toiletries or extra K-cups?”

“Toothpaste, please.” Emma wasn’t looking forward to the cheap shampoo and conditioner that would leave her hair a brittle, flyaway mess in the morning, but she’d eschewed packing any liquid beauty supplies for her flight, knowing they’d be confiscated at the security line, anyway. The clerk handed her the tiny tube of Colgate and a travel-sized bottle of Scope. The concierge followed Emma up to her room with her luggage. She tipped him, too, and she turned on the lights in the suite. 

At least it had a decent view. The bed had the sterile, institutional--looking duvet and modular furnishings that one only expected when you really had no other options. Emma flipped through the channel guide and noticed two premium channels and at least six sports networks that she’d never watch. Her stomach growled again, and Emma decided her best bet was to find that cafe.

 _Crumb Snatchers._ Quaint name. Emma hoped it lived up to its four-and-a-half stars.

Emma pondered her clothing options. None of them were warm, because Cancun. She didn’t relish the thought of heading back out into all that sleet in her thin coat. But the Google search told her that it was only eight blocks up the street. She could still catch them for something warm to drink if she hurried. Emma grabbed her purse and shoved the hotel key card into her pocket. She darted into the elevator and forced herself back out into the cold, dark night.

The rain had the nerve to pour down even harder than before. Emma’s brisk walk sped up to a trot by the middle of the third block, and it advanced to a sprint by the fifth. Her feet protested the abuse. By the time she reached the cafe, her toes throbbed, and she was soaked to the skin.

The door dinged overhead as she walked inside, and the young, petite girl behind the register looked mildly annoyed by her arrival.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We close in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on taking that long. I really just want something warm.”

“We just cleaned out the espresso machine,” the girl continued as she cracked her gum.

“Don’t you even have any tea? I would kill for some right about now.”

Even though what Emma really craved was a hot cocoa spiked with alcohol. She wasn’t feeling particular about which.

“It’s just hot water and a bag,” Emma pleaded when the cashier showed signs of refusing to budge on the matter.

Emma surveyed the shop. It was immaculate and decorated in cool, pastel tones of lavender and baby blue. Emma could smell the remnant of French roast coffee beans and buttercream in the air, and her stomach growled again, begging her for a scone. Or a cupcake. Anything, at this point.

The cafe was also invitingly warm. Emma scraped her damp hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. There was a couch in the corner, overstuffed and the perfect place to enjoy a coffee and a good book if Emma had daylight on her side. She regretted that she was only passing through. 

“Jubilee? Have you counted the register yet?”

“Not yet. I’m trying to close,” she argued with the deep, soft feminine voice that drifted out from the kitchen.

“I know you’re almost closed, but there’s not much else that’s open right now. I just wanted something warm to drink, and a little…”

Emma’s voice failed her when the owner of that voice wandered out from behind the counter.

She was breathtaking.

“Ambiance,” Emma finished.

“We do have that,” the woman - the _vision_ \- agreed. “We’re down to the last of whatever’s in the case right now. If you come back in the morning, you can get it for the day-old price.”

“I’ll pay full price for whatever you have now, if you don’t turn me away,” Emma promised. “My flight got cancelled. I’m stuck in a hotel with crunchy bed sheets and lousy shampoo. Please cut a girl some slack?”

“You’re drenched,” she agreed. “That looked like it was a nice coat.”

“Oh, it was.”

“I can make you some French roast, Italian, or the house blend, if that’s what you want. Or I have a few kinds of tea. The oolong is nice, or I have rooibos. Or Earl Grey. Or a nice chai that I can put with almond milk?”

“The first one. And maybe the last one to take away with me.”

“Just give me a minute. Wait on the couch, and I’ll have it right out. Let me take your coat.”

Jubilee rolled her eyes, but Ororo shooed her back into the kitchen, flicking a dish towel at her before she started fussing with the coffee pot. Emma watched her move around behind the counter. She was taller than Emma and wore a long-sleeved, lilac purple tee with the name of the bakery screened in script letters, and a long green apron. Her hair was a rich, gleaning white and microbraided into piles of tiny plaits and pulled back from her face with a heavy clip. Smooth, dark, flawless skin glowed in the low light. Her figure was all elegant, willowy curves, poured into snug, lightwash jeans. 

What struck Emma most were her eyes. Large and catlike, and a luminous, deep blue. 

Oh, she could lose herself in eyes like that.

“Do you take cream in it?”

“No. No sense in covering up good, strong coffee like that,” Emma called back.

“Spoken like someone with a true appreciation for good coffee beans.”

“I wouldn’t say no to something from the case of yours, however.”

“How would you feel about an apricot scone?”

“Ecstatic.”

Her barista nodded and winked at her. “Coming up. I’m just going to warm it up a little.”

The scents of pastry and fresh coffee greeted Emma and made the tension in her neck unknot. Jubilee came back out from the kitchen and began to refill the napkin dispensers. She gave Emma a long-suffering look, until her eyes drifted down to Emma’s feet.

“Are those Loboutins?” she accused. “And you wore them out in _this?_ ”

“Wasn’t my first choice, ducks.”

“Homegirl. Have you seen the weather report?”

“I only expected to see the weather through the window of a jet,” Emma explained, even though she didn’t have to.

“Oh, no. Did you get stranded?” The barista poured Emma’s cup and kept peering over her shoulder at her as she worked.

Emma nodded. “They gave me a hotel voucher, thankfully.”

“That’s still no way to spend the eve of Christmas Eve.”

“I wasn’t spending it all that impressively, anyway.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Cancun, with another single girlfriend.”

“Ororo, I already cleaned the bathrooms and counted the till. Can I take off?” 

“Of course,” she told Jubilee. “Take the rest of those muffins home. I packed them up for you.”

“Ororo?” Emma attempted the unusual name, rolling it on her tongue. “That’s different.”

“It’s Kenyan.”

“Wow.”

“My father grew up in Harlem, graduated from NYU with a journalism degree, and then became an expat. He missed the states after ten years, and they decided to raise me here.”

“That explains that accent.”

Ororo chuckled, nodding. She joined Emma on the couch and set down the coffee and scone. Tempting aromas wafted up from both.

“Will the owner kick me out?”

“I think I can convince her not to,” Ororo assured her. “She kind of lets me do whatever I want.”

Emma paused in breaking off a corner of the flaky scone. “Because…?”

“I happen to be her. That’s my name on the certificate,” she said, nodding to the framed statement of ownership hanging on the wall.

Emma blushed and facepalmed. “Of course you do. I’m Emma, by the way, and it might sound like I’m making a bold claim when I tell you that I’m not normally this much of a dumbass.”

“You’re not at all.”

“No. I am. I’m here right before closing, half-dressed for the weather and demanding coffee and just assuming that you worked here.”

“You’re not my worst customer by far. Are you still cold? Do you want me to turn up the heat? Or would you like me to lend you a sweater?” Ororo leaned in laid her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You’re so chilled. I can feel goosebumps.”

_No. Those happened as soon as you sat down, and how can you be the living embodiment of sunlight and kittens? Oh, dear Lord, I’m so fucked._

“I’ll be fine once I have some of this coffee… oh, my God, it’s like liquid heaven in my mouth.”

Ororo’s nose scrunched up adorably when she laughed.

“I’m serious. This is amazing coffee.”

“It’s not too strong?”

“I like mine strong enough that the spoon practically stands up in the cup by itself.”

“Then I’ll take that as a no.”

Emma moaned appreciatively over it as she continued to sip, warming her hands around the cup. “I won’t take too long, I promise. I just… I needed a break from the monotony of that hotel room. This has just been such a crazy week.”

“Work? Family?”

“All of the above. And on top of that, I just ended a three-year relationship right before Christmas.”

Ororo’s lips, ripe and plump, made a soft moue of pity. “Sorry to hear that.”

“So was I. Not my finest day.”

“Were you planning to take them on the trip with you?”

“No. She was supposed to go with me to my parents’, but she cancelled at the last minute, and we got into a fight. She decided to tell me that things hadn’t been working out for a _while_. And…” Emma closed her eyes, letting the words die. She shook her head, trying to clear away the vision and memory of that night.

Ororo’s hand was gentle on Emma’s arm. “Emma? Would you like a little something stronger than that coffee?”

Ororo was sitting so close. The heat from her body was radiating from her and leeching away the chill from Emma’s skin, warming her insides. She smelled like cinnamon and cloves.

“What do you have?”

“I’ll be back in a second.” Ororo rose from the couch, and Emma already felt bereft of her presence and heat. When she returned, and reached for Emma’s cup and tipped a small brown bottle into it before handing it back.

“Kahlua,” she explained. “Might do a little more to warm you up.”

Emma took a sip and closed her eyes. “Mmmmmmmm.”

“Does that help?”

“More than I can describe.”

“I can still get you that sweater?”

“No. Don’t worry about it. Just sit back down with me, because you’ve been on your feet all day, and you’re the first person who’s been this nice to me all week.”

“Awwwww.”

Ororo’s hand was back on Emma’s arm, causing the little ball of warm fuzzies in her chest to burst and multiply.

“Why are you working right before Christmas?”

“It’s one of my busiest weeks of the year. And it’s hard to take time off when you work for yourself.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry. Sorry, sorry.” Emma shook her head and smiled, retucking her hair behind her ear. “Of course. I have to admire you for it, though. Owning your own business.”

“It’s a labor of love.”

“That means you must like to cook.”

“Most of the time. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. There are nights where I just crack open a bowl of soup and put my feet up.”

Emma made an astonished look. “No!”

“Ohhhhh, yes.” Ororo nodded knowingly and leaned back into the couch for emphasis. Emma leaned back with her and bumped their shoulders together.

“Are we talking Campbells Chicken and Stars?”

Ororo nodded.

“That sounds positively lowbrow.”

“Anything is delicious when you don’t have to cook it. I wake up at dawn and close up at seven, usually. I’m keeping later hours to give people the chance to order their Christmas desserts and cookies for their office parties.”

“Oh, darling, that sounds miserable.”

“It’s a living.”

“How about you? Will you at least spend the holiday with your parents?”

Ororo’s smile was sad, and she shook her head. “Not this year.”

“Oh, Ororo. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t a holiday we celebrated all that much, anyway. It’s just another day to me now that they’re gone.”

“I guess.”

“Well, how do you usually spend it?”

“Ugh. How do I spend it? Well, let’s see. Bickering with my sisters. Bickering with my parents. Sneaking out of the house to get alcohol once my horrible aunts and uncles arrive. There are usually ugly sweaters and family pictures involved, and my little nieces and nephews running around like little heathens. I mean, I do spoil them, so I supposed that might also be my fault.”

“Awwww.” Ororo was doing that cute thing with crinkling her nose again. 

Emma was a _goner_.

“But it’s just you?”

“Yup. Just me.”

“In your quaint little shop.”

“You think it’s quaint? Thank you! I try. It’s not a hipster place, but I wanted it to feel like it has a soul, you know?”

“Well, it does. It really does.”

Ororo had decorated the shop sparingly with burgundy poinsettias and a few pinecone wreaths, and it wasn’t ostentatious. Nat King Cole played softly in the background from the kitchen, singing about chestnuts and Jack Frost. Emma felt self-conscious about her ruined hair and faded makeup, her damp dress and boots, and about how frazzled and exposed she felt in the face of Ororo’s elegance and kindness.

“Thank you for being so nice to me, and so welcoming. You’ve made this leg of my trip a lot more bearable.”

“Where are you staying? Over at the Radisson?”

“I am. How did you… oh, well, I guess it’s the closest one,” Emma reasoned, answering her own question.

“It pretty much is. It’s walking distance. Explains how you got soaked to the skin. It’d be a shame to ruin that pretty dress walking back.”

“I’m not too worried about it.”

“Would it help if I gave you a ride back?”

“Oh, Ororo! I don’t want to put you out! It’s late, and you probably want to go home!”

“I’d feel better about not having you walk out in the dark and damp, again, all alone,” Ororo told her. Emma sat up, and Ororo followed her, gently rubbing Emma’s back and giving her pleasant little chills with the contact. “Poor thing. You’re having such a rough night, missing your flight and ending up stranded.”

“The company has been excellent. And the coffee, and the ambiance… there are worse places I could be.”

Ororo’s smile was soft. She rubbed Emma’s back again and gave her shoulders a pleasant little squeeze. “Take your time. Let me finish up in the kitchen and get my purse, and your coat.”

“You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

“Emma, I just want you to be safe.”

Oh, that didn’t make Emma melt into a puddle _at all_.

“We need to dry your hair,” Ororo murmured. “Don’t go to bed with it wet.”

She was staring at Emma. Still touching her, sharing her warmth. 

“I didn’t even check to see if my room has one.”

“I have one.” Ororo’s voice was a soft, rich husk.

“Nothing worse than wet hair.”

“I’ll dry it for you.”

Emma’s mouth went dry. She nodded wordlessly. She was aware of Ororo in that instant, and of her own body’s response to that voice, and her scent, and her touch. Emma’s nipples had pebbled under her thin white dress.

“Let me get you your coat.”

 

*

Once Ororo turned off the lights and locked up the front door of the shop, they made a mad dash into the rain around to the side of the building, where Ororo’s tiny Prius was parked. Emma laughed as Ororo tugged her along and unlocked Emma’s side first, hovering protectively over her while she climbed inside. Ororo grinned down at her as she waited for Emma to tuck her legs in before she gently shoved the door shut. They drove in relative silence. When they had to stop at a slow red light, Ororo reached over and caressed Emma’s bare knee. Emma shivered and made a tiny noise of need.

“You’re fine with this?”

“This is what I would have wanted to do where I was going anyway, ducks.”

Ororo rewarded her with a breathy laugh.

Emma’s smile was smug as she stared through the windshield. Ororo’s fingers were giving her skin little thrills, tracing over it feather-light.

They drove across town, into a neighborhood that was tucked behind the strip malls and that featured gated apartment complexes with scant parking. Ororo pulled into the lot of a modest four-plex and parked in one of the covered spaces. Once she turned off the ignition, she leaned across the console between them, and Emma met her halfway in the dark, giving into the urge that she’d had since they met to taste those lips. All of the voices of reason in her chorused that this was a future “iffy choice” that she would regale Jean of over margaritas, but. 

Emma felt safe. Ororo didn’t set off all of Emma’s usual alerts. She was easy and soft and blunt, and that appealed to her. The kiss, when it happened, was firm and hot, and Ororo’s fingers smoothed Emma’s hair back from her face with care.

“Do you like to sleep in a cool room or with the heat on?”

“Depends on how many blankets you have.”

“As many as you want. I just want to warm you up.”

Those words were murmured over Emma’s lips.

“I am a little cold, Ororo.”

“Can’t have that.”

Ororo’s grip on Emma’s hand was insistent as she led her again through the rain to her apartment door. Emma huddled closely against Ororo’s back as she dug for her keys and let them inside. They tumbled in through the door, and Ororo backed Emma up against it for more hungry kisses before she turned the lock. Ororo reached for the sash of Emma’s coat and tugged open the knot, letting the flaps part, and her hands felt warm on Emma’s body through the thin knit of her dress. Emma sighed into her kiss, letting herself touch her, caressing her soft cheeks and the intriguing braids, enjoying their texture. They explored each other in the dark and gradually made their way to the bedroom. On their way inside, Ororo turned on a small space heater, changing the setting to medium.

“That’ll cut the chill,” Ororo assured her. “Come here, pretty girl.”

“I’m a mess.”

“A little rain didn’t ruin all this.” Ororo shucked Emma’s coat, letting it slip down her shoulders, and Emma moaned when her hands crept up beneath her skirt, touching her through the slick silk of her pantyhose. Emma worked on Ororo’s jacket, tugging down her zipper, and pulling the hem of her t-shirt free from the waist of her snug jeans. They kissed frantically as they undressed each other, pausing to touch and caress. “You’re so soft,” Ororo murmured into Emma’s neck.

“That feels nice. Don’t stop. Please.”

“I’m not planning to rush this. You weren’t in a big hurry to go back to your hotel, were you?”

“No.”

“Good. Want me to set an alarm?”

Emma nodded, and Ororo kissed her senseless.

*

Once Emma was out of her boots, she noticed that the height difference between them wasn’t much. Ororo didn’t have to lean down that far to take Emma’s breast into her mouth and lap at her sensitive peak in lush little spirals that made her gasp. The Victoria’s Secret bra of aquamarine satin edged in sheer lace looked better on the floor, Emma decided. She admired the contrast between their complexions once they were both naked, when Emma glanced them in the mirror. 

“What are you wearing? It smells so good.”

“Just some Chanel that my sister gave me for my birthday.”

“It’s so nice on you.” Ororo trailed light kisses down the side of Emma’s throat and gently nipped her where it connected to her shoulder. Emma shuddered and clung to her. 

“You’re so good to me,’ Emma rasped. “You feel so good.”

Ororo’s smooth palms were exploring Emma’s body, enjoying her curves. “Come and get under the covers, baby.”

Emma preceded her into bed. Her sheets smelled faintly of sandalwood and lavender; Emma wondered if she used one of those dryer balls with essential oil that everyone always suggested on Pinterest. Then Ororo joined her, and they were gloriously bare and close. Ororo loomed over her in the dark, the line of her body silhouetted in light that came in from the streetlamps outside. Emma grew lost in Ororo’s kisses when she settled against her, pressed in between the welcoming nook of Emma’s thighs.

“I’m so glad you came home with me.” Ororo stroked Emma’s hair. Every touch worked to undo Emma, bit by bit.

“You shouldn’t be alone. It’s almost Christmas. I know you’ve been a good girl. Good girls deserve nice things.”

“Then I’ve been very good,” Ororo agreed as she kissed her way down Emma’s neck, returning to her breasts. She dawdled there for a while, slowly teasing them and suckling them until Emma began to buck under her, needing more attention where she’d been neglected most. Ororo smiled and reached for her, finding her hot, slick core. Emma arched up, thrusting herself back up toward Ororo’s gleaming lips, and Ororo obliged her, returning Emma’s turgid, deep rose nipple to the heat of her mouth. Emma squirmed and cried out. Ororo stroked her, taking her sweet time finding out how Emma loved to be touched. She sighed into Emma’s flesh, enjoying the taste of her skin as it grew slicked with sweat.

Her _fingers_. Emma’s last rational thought left her when one of them eased itself inside, discovering her wetness. “Ororo,” Emma whimpered. “Oh, please. Please, please…”

She heard Ororo’s soft chuckle as she continued to nip and kiss at Emma’s chest and ribcage, letting her tongue swirl over her skin. Emma felt her stomach pitch with excitement when she realized Ororo’s downward path. “Please,” Emma begged.

“I won’t make you wait. You’ve had to wait for everything else long enough, tonight, Emma.”

Oh.

Hot. Soft. Velvety. Emma’s belly shuddered at the first flick of Ororo’s tongue where she needed it most. Emma had lost sight of her beneath the blankets, but she felt Ororo’s caress and the careful spread of her sex beneath her fingers, opening her for a more thorough taste. Emma gave up trying to speak. Small shocks of pleasure raced through her center, shivering over every nerve. Emma stroked and plucked absently at Ororo’s mound of braids, and her leg hooked itself around Ororo’s smooth, warm back as she made love to Emma with her mouth. Each dip of her tongue brought Emma closer to release, but Ororo would slow down and pause to toy with Emma’s clit, twirling it on the tip. Emma let out tiny mewling cries, but Ororo went at her own pace. Every time Emma would arch up, letting her hips rise to chase her mouth, Ororo would back off, keeping her pace and pressure maddeningly slow and soft. Emma finally sank back into the pillows and let Ororo have her way. She felt Ororo urging her, through touch, to just relax and enjoy the ride.

She felt Ororo shift, felt her ascend the crest of her sex with nipping kisses, tracing the curve of Emma’s belly and teasing her navel with her tongue. Emma peeled the covers back, revealing Ororo’s face and spill of braids cascading over her shoulders as she kissed her way back up.

“I’m not done,” she rasped.

“Thank God…”

“Look at you.”

Ororo was touching her again, working up a slow, torturous rhythm that made Emma’s hips buck. The slide of her fingers into Emma’s heat worked her back up to that fever pitch, and Ororo laved her throat, mapping out her pulse. Emma was greedy for her touch and the rub of her thumb against her tender, puffy nub. That hint of perfect friction and Emma’s own slickness pushed her over the edge. She cried out wantonly, fearing that she’d just woke Ororo’s neighbors, but the release when it came took Emma to a different place. Emma lay in Ororo’s arms while she stroked her through the final tremors. Emma groaned, spent and boneless. She felt Ororo’s lips moving over her hair and cheek.

“I want to do that again,” Ororo mused breathlessly.

Emma practically dissolved against her as Ororo gently pulled her hand free. Emma bundled them back under the covers and burrowed against her until her forehead was tucked beneath Ororo’s chin. She giggled at Ororo’s admission.

“I’ll never wake up if you do, and I won’t make my plane on time.”

“Awwww. I won’t let you oversleep.”

“I’d love to let you. Both with round two and the sleeping in. You feel so good. I needed that so badly.”

“Someone wasn’t taking care of you.”

“I can’t even take care of myself, half the time. I’m not saddling anyone else with that job.”

“You still deserve nice things. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be running off to Cancun to get away from your parents.”

Emma snorted.

“Am I getting warm?”

“Mmmmmm. You _are_.” Emma snuggled closer and kissed Ororo’s collarbone. Ororo’s fingers combed through Emma’s hair. Their legs tangled together, and Emma regretted the boarding passes burning a hole in her purse. 

“Your hair’s almost dry.”

Emma snickered and poked Ororo in her side. Ororo kissed her brow.

“You can still use my hair dryer if you want.”

“Right now, I’ll settle for your sheets. And for these.” Emma leaned up and hovered over Ororo’s breasts, giving one of them a teasing kiss.

“I thought we were skipping round two?”

“It wasn’t a hard no.” Emma caught Ororo’s nipple lightly between her teeth and suckled it, appreciating Ororo’s low gasp of pleasure and the way her fingers kept smoothing Emma’s hair back from her face.

Emma hoped she didn’t miss her flight, but the accomodations were _five-star_.


End file.
